


amid the sand

by dinosuns



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Beginnings, Belonging, Desert, M/M, Origin Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 09:24:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15116489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinosuns/pseuds/dinosuns
Summary: Out here on his hoverbike is the closest Keith ever gets to belonging. That changes one day unexpectedly.





	amid the sand

**Author's Note:**

> second piece for the keitor zine, which you can download for free [here](https://keitorzine.tumblr.com/post/175402282367/mixed-blood-download-link-its-been-a-long-wait) ! i am considering writing a continuation for this - i have a lot of lot mapped out!

Keith is used to sand.

But that doesn’t mean he likes it. Sand is grainy, uncomfortable. It gets in your eyes when you blink or talk or do pretty much anything. Especially when there’s wind, which is often, or if he’s travelling long distances on his red hoverbike - which is also often.

Dunam, on the outskirts of the Orino System, is a dull dreary planet plagued by sand. Lost to the stars that shine brighter in its galaxy, to other worlds that hold wonders Keith can barely fathom. The stagnant canyons on the horizon, the sharp biting wind lapping at his heels when the hoverbike glides - Dunam is familiar to him. After all, this desert wasteland with few settlements and fewer people is all he’s ever known. 

The vast expanse of sand has always been here. And for as long as he can remember so has he, with nothing but a curious old lump of metal strapped onto his belt. Not quite a knife, not quite _ anything _ , really. There’s a symbol on the front, a jagged lightning bolt that seems to glow purple when it catches the light. The craftsmanship of it is unlike anything Keith has encountered.

Sometimes, the artifact feels heavy in a way he can’t explain. Not by weight, exactly. More like by the sheer presence of it. It’s a cosmic intangible force that evades description.

Hoverbike parked, Keith makes his way inside the cave. Since discovering this place years ago, it’s proven to be full of valuable material to trade. Keith decided the first day he set foot here that bringing anyone else to these ruins would be out of the question - some of the treasures here deserve nothing but quiet admiration and respect. Crouching down, Keith traces over the cave markings slowly. It’s the same thing wherever he goes - lions. 

Keith doesn’t know what the markings mean, but he knows they’re too important for Lubos and his men to ever find. Maybe one day, he will have an explanation, answers for the multitude of questions he has for the universe.  _ Where did I come from? What happened to my parents? What does the symbol mean-?  _

The grim reality is that chances of ever getting information continue to grow slim. Besides, he’s not here for that - not now. Today he’s here to scrounge what he can from the battered spaceship and get back to the town. The wreckage beneath his feet is at least decades old, but it rekindles determination in his bones. There’s plenty here to scavenge: rusted pieces of controls, metal panels, small bolts and screws. As he tosses a few smaller items into his stachel, he catches sight of a large metal pole. It’s most likely a piece of the ship’s old pipework, and the size of it could provide him with at least three days of food. A closer look confirms his suspicions - it’s made of Rectite, a highly sought after metal in this part of the galaxy.  

Leaning over to lift up the pole, Keith yanks hard. It doesn’t budge. With a sigh, he tries again to no avail.

“Come on,” he hisses. “Stop being difficult!”

His fingers reach for the hidden artifact in his scabbard, only to pull back in resignation. No matter how he attempts to pry it open, the contraption just won’t open. It’s a lost cause, he’s sure. Perhaps just like him. Instead, he settles for using a small blade tucked into his belt as leverage. With a few more tugs, the pole finally comes free. 

“Ha!” Keith exclaims, grinning triumphantly.  

Hooking the pole to his hovercraft, Keith sets the ignition alight. The sun is orange as he exits the cave, indicating he really ought to race back before curfew. There’s no obstacles, no  _ anything, _ but it doesn’t stop Keith from coiling and twisting over the sand. It transforms into whatever he wants it to be; sailing through starways, soaring past spectacular ships at lightspeed. 

Out here on his hoverbike, it’s the closest he ever gets to belonging.

**——**

By Keith’s estimations, the stuff he has picked up should bring in at least five portions of food. Eyes flick longingly to the horizon as he walks through the town towards the merchant’s stall. One day, he’ll be up there.  _ He has to be.  _ There’s nothing here in this town for him. Dunam is a planet steeped in greed. For someone with no desire to climb over others or the means to sustain themselves independently, there’s no sense of purpose or fulfilment. 

Keith feels it gnawing at his skin - he can’t stay here.

Reaching the stall, Keith sets down the pole alongside the other pieces. The merchant is a mousy, small man with wiry black hair who speaks very little. That’s probably for the best, considering his interest in harvested metals outweighs his interest in the wellbeing of the people who live here.  

The merchant examines the items closely, seeming unimpressed. Narrowing his eyes, Keith prepares himself for a dispute. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

“Two portions.” There it is - unkind and impassive dismissal. 

Bristling, Keith leans forwards. He knows well enough when he’s being conned.

“You can’t be serious. Two - two portions? That’s made of Rectite! It’s one of most valuable metals on this planet.”

“Yeah and you know what’s more valuable, kid?” Gesturing down, the merchant leans over the stand. “That thing you’ve got strapped to your belt. It’s made from Luxite.”

Keith sees more than hears two of the guards boxing him in from behind. Their shadows tower over him, tasers crackling. 

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Hand it over, kid.” It’s not a choice, it’s a command and it’s wrong. Keith clasps a hand around the artifact tighter because  _ like hell _ is he giving this up. 

“It’s not for sale.” 

Glancing over his shoulder, Keith keeps his defensive stance. Lubos’ men aren’t particularly challenging opponents, but the increasing number of them becomes a problem. He counts at least six now. Lubos may be despicable, but his tactics are terribly effective. He beats resistance into submission before it grows into a storm that could reduce everything built here to sand. Scenes like this cause people to stop and stare, but it ensures they never intervene. Onlookers never light the flame burning in their hearts, leaving it to dwindle into a painful pitiful thing that torments their every waking hour. Or worse, Lubos stokes the flame with fear, cultivating it into a cataclysmic inferno that eliminates any trace of hope. He does this systematically, continuously.

Gritting his teeth, Keith steels himself. He refuses to bow, and apparently he’s not alone in that. A cloaked figure steps into the circle, standing by Keith’s side. No words are spoken, but the gesture is clear enough.

“You should get out of here. I got this,” Keith hisses. If there’s one thing Lubos and his men detest, it’s the whispers of an uprising. Keith and this stranger are no longer just two people, they’re a danger to everything Lubos and this desolate town depend on.

“With all due respect, I doubt that very much.” The cloaked figure sounds momentarily amused. It’s out of place considering their circumstances. Their voice is eloquent in ways that border something melancholic - the sound someone who knows perhaps too much and has spent a lifetime overcoming it. “Shall we get this over with?”

They fight side by side, falling into sync with each other. It’s natural,  _ powerful.  _ And as they’re making their great escape with the last of the orange sun bearing down on their backs, Keith feels somewhat closer to that belonging he yearns for.

**——**

It’s quiet on their retreat back to Keith’s modest home, the remnants of what once was a desert shack. Now almost entirely roofless, the shack is more the outlines of its foundations than anything else. The sun has passed over the mountains in the distance, leaving them swathed in pale silvery moonlight. Stoking the dying embers of a fire between them, Keith glances over at the curious stranger. Their intervention back at the town makes no sense. In fact, their presence in general makes no sense. For as long as Keith has been on Dunam, he has never met anybody new. 

“That artifact the merchant tried to take from you,” the stranger probes carefully. “May I see it?”

Keith glances down, momentarily conflicted. With reluctance, he hands it over.

“Be careful,” he warns. “I’ve had it my whole life.”

“Hm. That may be so, but it has not had you for all of its life…” the stranger muses, observing it intently. Set against the glow of the fire, the engravings around the symbol flourish into patterns that are truly mesmerising. Leaning closer, Keith watches the stranger turn the artifact over in his gloved hands. “This is unspeakably ancient. In all my ventures, I have never seen such a specimen.”

“What is it?”

“You don’t know?” There’s reverence in his voice, but the surprise overpowers. It’s as if Keith should know exactly what this is, as if it’s almost _ impossible _ that he doesn’t. Perhaps it’s the way the stranger speaks about it, with unmasked awe, but Keith’s curiosity is piqued. That doesn’t change the fact he really  _ doesn’t  _ know. Resigned, Keith slumps against the shattered remains of what was once a wall. 

“Interesting. Yet still it speaks to you, and your hear the call of the force nonetheless.”

At those words, Keith takes back the artifact. Tracing his fingers over the engravings, he hones all his focus on it.  _ It still speaks to you, and you hear the call of the force.  _

“I don’t hear anything…” he admits after a moment of silence. 

The fire catches the corner of the stranger’s mouth, revealing a cryptic smile.

“Not yet, but I have faith you will.”

_ Faith.  _ Keith falters at that, eyes widening. It’s overwhelming to hear such words, yet alone from a stranger. Clearing his throat, he grapples with something to say. Embarrassment and uncertainty quickly morph into fiery irritation. 

“What’s your deal, anyway?” It’s not purposefully intrusive, but the residual bite makes it so. 

“I have done no dealings today, besides with myself on whether I ought to assist you.”

Ducking his head, the tension coiling in Keith’s gut grows. A breathy laugh escapes his lips, too sharp to be anything pleasant.

“You don’t get it,” he hisses. “People don’t just...  _ show up here _ like you did. That’s not how it works. You’re either here, or you’re not.”

Keith knows this better than anyone. People don’t come, and they certainly never go. There’s a laboured sigh as the stranger clasps their hands in their lap.

“You truly wish to know my story?”

Nodding weakly, Keith waits in anticipation. The hood comes down, allowing the stranger’s face to come into full view. Purple skin, with long white hair scraped back into a bun️. Sharp prominent cheekbones carve over his face, with eyes that hold Keith’s gaze. Purple iris, yellow sclera. Nothing could have ever prepared Keith for what he hears next. 

“I am Prince Lotor of the Galra Empire, son of Zarkon.”

_ Zarkon. _ Out of instinct, Keith curls his hand around the artifact. Raw blazing heat flares through his veins. Everyone knows that name, knows what Emperor Zarkon has done to ensure he holds the universe in the palms of his corrupt hands whilst squeezing tighter and tighter until stars implode under the strain. And whilst most fear his power, dare to mention that name, Keith challenges it. Clearly sensing the rising agitation, Lotor raises a hand placatingly. 

“Forgive me, I suppose I should say estranged son of Zarkon. Upon defecting, I was cut off. Now there is a bounty on my life.” 

Defecting against Lubos is one thing, but  _ Zarkon -  _ Keith gapes at the revelation. 

“How big’s the bounty?” he asks, half to fill the silence and half because he’s curious, to his shame. Keith has no intentions of twisting the fate of another life, even the son of Zarkon. Lotor’s eyes darken, hand instinctively reaching for his belt. 

“Enough to live like a king until my father grows tired and disposes of you.”

“I’m not turning you in,” Keith says, chin tilting up. The flash of surprise on Lotor’s face is all too clear. “What brought you to this place, anyway?”

Lips curling round a smile, Lotor meets his gaze. It’s considerate, and far too exposing. 

“You.”

_ What. _

“I wish to restore peace to the universe, and put an end to my father’s reign. I believe with your assistance, I may be able to achieve that.” 

“That’s-... _ Why me _ ? I’m no-one,” Keith breathes before he can stop himself. It’s not self-depreciative, just true. “I mean, I-” This is  _ absurd.  _

“I’m sure you have many questions, but time is of the essence. I’ve a ship nearby. Others are bound to have sensed your presence and be alerted of mine. Keith, will you join me?”

The confirmation is already burning on Keith’s tongue, searing his place into a story he just might belong to. 


End file.
